


Pleasure's mine

by stilinskisoul



Series: Come as you are [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Car Mechanic, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, BAMF Stiles, Flirtatious Stiles, M/M, Mechanic Stiles Stilinski, Pierced Stiles, Seductive Stiles Stilinski, Sexual References, Sexual Tension, Tattooed Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:24:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2408390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisoul/pseuds/stilinskisoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek has car issues. The mechanic guy is a hottie, and in a blink of an eye, Derek is smitten.</p><p>(As for the title: pun intended.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pleasure's mine

**Author's Note:**

> Let me point out now, that 'pun intended' is not only true for the title, but for most of the sentences those are said between our fave OTP.
> 
> Unbeta'ed :)
> 
> Enjoy!

The road is deserted and for at least half an hour no other cars have been seen. Derek is heading toward Beacon Hills to visit his family at the Hale house hidden in the woods. Laura, Cora and Peter haven't seen him in quite a long while, and he misses them a lot. He just couldn't come to pay them a visit earlier, because he has been overburdened with his job lately.

The only thing pissing him is the fact that he most likely has just earned a flat tire and his car has been stopping momentarily once in a while, obviously meaning he has car issues and needs to have his car checked. He heard about an abandoned car repairer station near Beacon Hills, but he's never seen it yet—maybe because he hasn't made any effort to actually notice it.

After an agonizingly long ten minutes he recognizes something in the distance. It is a huge dusty glade among the trees directly by the road with an enormous building standing on it. The closer Derek gets to it, the more obvious it becomes that it's made of metal and several spots of rust are covering it. When he's there, Derek grips the stirring wheel and takes a sharp turn off the road. He crossed it anomalously, but since there is no other car he assumes it can be forgiven him. He steps on the brake and parks his Camaro.

Derek takes a deep breath before opening the door of the driver's seat and getting out of the vehicle. Even before he could shut the door back, a man is approaching him already. Derek gives the man a sophisticated smile, that he usually gives to his clients, in a greeting before speaking.

“Good afternoon,” he says. The man nods to him, his eyes already on the pitch black car. Derek can tell that he's fascinated by it. He guesses it's not an everyday thing here, having to deal with such an expensive car that he possesses.

“Good afternoon,” comes the reply a tiny bit later than it should have. The unknown man is now looking at him. “What can I do for you?”

“I think I have a flat tire,” Derek says. “And it's been stalling while driving for quite a while.”

The man nods again, showing Derek he acknowledged the information. “I'll send someone,” he announces, jerking his head in the building's direction. For some reason the surprise crosses Derek's mind—if he's honest, he has to admit that he wouldn't have thought there were any other employees here besides this man.

Said individual's silhouette disappears behind the open rust-covered metal door. For the time being, Derek kills the time by paying attention to the beaming Sun on the baby blue sky that is covered by just few gray clouds. He folds his arms over his chest and keeps his head tilted slightly backwards, his eyes constantly darted on the endless blueness as he lazily leans back against the hood of the Camaro with his hips. He only moves again when he hears rustling noises coming from the direction of the opening in the wall of the building.

It turns out it was a profoundly bad idea to look there.

He almost chokes on his saliva when he sees the promised worker. He doesn't even care anymore about the fact that he has been waiting for at least fifteen minutes, because the mechanic looks like he's just stepped out from a photoshoot of a magazine. The guy can't be older than twenty-one or two, that is for sure. When he appears from behind the door, he's busy wiping off leftover spots of dark gasoline from his hands that is hidden in black leather mittens, only leaving his pale skin available on his fingers. Silver-framed pilot sunglasses shine on his face and he's wearing only a pair of weary black jeans that is sporting several spots of dust and oil. There are black leather boots on his feet in which the lower end of his pants are tugged into—it's obvious they are also old; it's like every single piece of clothing on him had its own story.

When the guy is called after, he lifts his head and quits wiping his hands into the dirty cloth. As he halts and turns halfway, Derek can see an adorably upturned nose and notice a red piece of rag tugged into one of his back pockets. His dark strands of hair are reaching towards the sky in haphazard spikes due to the wax he used, and the thing Derek likes the most about this prodigy is that his pale skin doesn't have an inch free of ink. His whole body is painted by glorious tattoos, including his neck and arms all over, yet it's still perfectly aesthetic. Somehow the painting appears balanced and not too much despite the fact it is literally covering him eternally. And the thin black hoop in his bottom lip completely drives Derek nuts.

Especially when the boy turns to look at him and presents him with a smirk, his tongue playing with the hoop awhile. He arches an eyebrow in a way Derek would describe as flirtatiously teasing, then asks him.

“What can I do for you, big guy?”

His voice is also nothing Derek was expecting. It's much lower than the one he imagined for him, but it's not that Derek is complaining. In fact, he likes this whole situation a little bit _too much_ , which is just ridiculous, but he can't bring himself to care. And his enthusiasm is exponentially growing with each passing second. He just shouldn't screw this thing up. He shoos out the other possible answers he could give to this question and settles with one that contains just enough amount of flirt.

“Check me,” he says with a matching half smile, pushing himself away from the Camaro with an elegant and easy movement of his hips. He unfolds his arms and sinks one of his hands into the pocket of his light gray suit as he takes a few steps away from his car to give enough room for the other to examine the issue. A vague hope creeps its way into Derek's mind that the trouble he has with his car is actually more serious than it seemed at first, so he could have an excuse to spend more time around this hottie of a man.

The mechanic's smirk widens. “With pleasure.”

As the guy walks passed him, Derek inhales his scent—a mixture of sharp gasoline, slightly burnt material, smudgy smoke, metal and a blurred hint of cologne. Apart from the given circumstances and the fact that these should be considered inconvenient scents, for some reason Derek finds them the most appealing and perfect. Not to mention if he's right, the guy uses his favorite type of male's perfume; _Drakkar Noir_.

“Do you have a name?” the guy asks as he crouches down in front of the Camaro's left front tire to check if everything was okay with it. He's tilting his head in several directions to get a better view at the tire from various angles. Derek is watching him in a dazing haze, but then he realizes he's supposed to be giving an answer at the moment.

“Derek,” he says eventually. The cowering guy glances up at him from behind his sunglasses with a cheeky gleam in his beautiful amber irises. Derek solely hears what the other says as a response, answering to his own question, too.

“Stiles.”

He turns back to keep checking the tires, giving Derek a minute or two to let his eyes roam over his body. Stiles has two huge pairs of wings painted on his back—one of the pairs' lower end disappears under his layer of clothes, while the other stretches out on the biceps of his two arms, creating the illusion of Stiles fluttering his wings whenever he moves his arms. Like all of his other tattoos, these are lack of colors as well. Stiles' body is sturdy just as much as Derek would consider perfectly matching for him. The cloth Stiles used to wipe his hands off with is seeped by dark spots of oil, those are also present on several parts of Stiles' body and face, their edges blurry because of him obviously trying to wipe them off but ended up merely smudging them. The piece of textile is now laying in the yellowish-brown dust as it was dropped there by Stiles a few moments ago, just before he crouched down.

His jeans have been hung low on his hips, anyway, sassily showing off a small part of his tight black boxer briefs—now that he's crouching, an even bigger part of his underwear is peeking out and Derek can't help but stare at it.

Also, Derek finds himself curious about Stiles and so, can't help but try to figure out what Stiles' interests are. Considering his choice of clothes, Derek assumes his taste in music should be something close to rock or punk. Derek wants to know if Stiles likes to read books and if so, what kind he likes the most. If Stiles likes to watch films. If he prefers going to a cinema to staying home and watch movies there. What he's hooked up on. What he's keen in. If Stiles knows his corporation and if so, what he thinks about it. Derek finds himself asking all those questions from himself mentally in a demanding tone, and scolding himself for not being able to answer them, simply because he isn't asking Stiles about them.

But that would be awkward, wouldn't it?

After all, he hasn't known Stiles for five minutes and he came here to have his car repaired in the first place. But then again, he didn't know he would meet such a handsome guy at a place like this. Besides, Stiles acts like he didn't want more than a simple fuck from Derek.

But even if that's the case, Derek honestly wouldn't care. He hasn't had a one-night-stand since college, but if that is what Stiles wants, then be it.

His trail of thoughts is cut off when Stiles suddenly stands and starts to walk toward him. Derek's heartbeat fastens, and he's pretty sure his excitement is available on his face, too, because Stiles gives him another smug smirk. As he turns around and walks, the gleam of the sunlight reflecting slithers over on the silver frame of his sunglasses. The fact that these block Derek to get a view on Stiles' eyes is frustrating him, but merely in terms of giving the situation a little more tension. Stiles only bypasses Derek for the sake of approaching the metal building. A _Zippo_ gasoline lighter is in his hand which he keeps opening and closing constantly while walking. For Derek's surprise, he doesn't find the sound obnoxious at all.

No, because it is a part of Stiles.

In less than a minute, he's back with a replacement tire, a wrench and his lighter still in hand. He drops them on the ground then, playing with his lighter again, he makes a beeline to the building again. This time he went for a car lifter, Derek discovers once Stiles is back.

Stiles puts his lighter into the pocket of his jeans and kneels down. He places the lifter under the car so he can change the flat tire to the replacement.

“Nice car, by the way,” Stiles says. He slides the sunglasses onto the top of his head and fixes the mittens on his hands.

“Thanks,” says Derek.

“Have you ever thought about—” Stiles starts to ask, but in the end decides against it. He cuts off the sentence with a shake of his head. “Never mind.” Derek tilts his head to the side in an inquiring way. He's eager to ask what Stiles wanted to ask, but he figures Stiles wouldn't tell it to him.

While Stiles is busy changing his tire, Derek's eyes roam all over the ink on the pale skin. They are a great contrast compared to each other, but in Derek's opinion it's all the better. The muscles in his back and arms are availably flexing and releasing as he lifts the heavy tire and puts it in place after removing the ruined one. The tattoos are also a paradox for each other on the boy's back and front—while his back is embellished by those gorgeous wings his front is adorned by devilish pictures. Latter tattoos also include horned skulls, however, they aren't lack of lotuses either. The word 'ephemera' is written among them beautifully with curved and amazingly meandering letters.

Stiles is humming a song as he stands and walks over to the hood of the Camaro. He shoots a wink over his shoulder to Derek.

“Mind if I check the baby inside, too?” Derek can't help but think of the second meaning of those words. Is this guy doing this deliberately? Derek still has his mind in place, though, so he's quick with his witty response.

“You can do whatever you want.” Stiles grins at him and opens up the hood.

“I'm not wasting my time, then,” he says. On one hand, Derek wishes he _wasted_ his time, so they would have more time together, but on the other he hopes Stiles will keep his word—in hypothetical terms, of course. He doesn't have too much time for his thoughts, though, because his attention is quickly drawn to Stiles' ass as he leans over the Camaro.

“It's not everyday that I see something so stunning,” Stiles says once he no longer has his face buried under the hood. He turns around and props himself on his hands, his hips resting against the vehicle. His amber gaze is firmly darted at Derek, who requites the look with matching interest. “If I didn't know better, I'd definitely just let my instincts take the initiative and _take_ ,” he says, putting obvious emphasis on the last word. When he starts tonguing on his lip piercing again, Derek involuntarily changes to look at that instead of his eyes.

It makes Stiles smirk again.

“And what brings you around?” he asks. Derek gives him an uncomprehending look, which urges Stiles to explain. “I mean I'm guessing you're heading to Beacon Hills, and people like you wouldn't come close to that town.” An unconscious smile creeps its way onto Derek's lips, making the corners of his mouth pull up.

“Where do you think people like me would go?” he asks, avoiding to answer.

“New York. Seattle. Washington,” Stiles shrugs as he's counting the names of the big cities. “Anywhere but here. Don't get me wrong, though, I'm totally fine that you're here now,” he adds, offering another one of those coaxingly seductive smiles.

“I have some personal business to do,” Derek says, but as soon as the last word leaves his mouth he realizes how bad that came out. And there it is, he can see the uncomfortable twitch in Stiles' gorgeous piercing-involved smile already, and his face reflects his thoughts which should be similar to 'I should have known'.

Derek opens his mouth to tell him it's concerning his family only, but Stiles darts his gaze downwards, takes out his lighter again, examines it with his eyes for a little while before he turns back to the black car. He dives back in and digs his hands in, searching for the battery of the car. Derek watches him for a while before he decides to approach him. When he places his hands on the wings he notices how Stiles' body stiffens momentarily. In a second, though, his muscles relax again and he stubbornly keeps his attention on what he's doing instead of Derek.

“I've been overburdened with my job lately, and I haven't had time to come here earlier. My family lives here.” Stiles shrugs. At first, Derek doesn't understand why he's behaving like that still, but then it strikes him. “My uncle and two sisters live here,” he adds quickly. He doesn't want Stiles to think he's married or comes to visit his children. Stiles' passive-aggressive demeanor vanishes in a blink of an eye, and he turns his head to finally look at Derek, giving him what he wanted—the flirting side of Stiles.

However, their faces are incredibly close to each other's, and it catches both of them off-guard. While Derek manages to fight back the pink color that's threatening to appear on his cheeks, Stiles fails miserably at it and he blushes in an intoxicating, irresistible way. His words echo back into Derek's mind.

“If I didn't know better, I'd definitely just let my instincts take the initiative and _take_.”

And Derek definitely doesn't know better, however, he can't yet bring himself to do it. Derek can't help but look lower when he notices the way Stiles' lips fall apart, his mouth gaping lightly. Derek mumbles something and stands up, taking a step back. The next time he looks at Stiles, a knowing, wicked smirk is welcomed on his face again.

“So you're here to visit your family, huh?” he asks. Derek wonders if Stiles took pity of him and broke the silence, or he's simply hungry for further data about him. Derek hopes it's the latter. He nods eventually. “Hey, that's cool. Isn't one of them a member of BHPD?” Derek is puzzled. How does he know that?

“Yes. My sister, Laura works there.”

“Oh, she's with Parrish? That's nice.”

Derek has to ask now. “How do you know so much?”

Stiles turns to look at him as he's wiping his hands and mittens more or less clean into the cloth he picked up from the ground. He gives Derek a playful half smile.

“My Dad is the Sheriff.”

If anything, that shocks Derek. This kid's father is the Sheriff of BHPD? He would have bet on the head of the Mafia or a local gangster band, because that's more likely. Nonetheless, Stiles is full of surprises, and Derek loves that. He's fed up with ordinary people, and now Stiles is like a breath of fresh air to him. Like an alive collection of paradoxes.

“Guess you didn't see that coming,” he adds teasingly. Derek idly shakes his head. Stiles' smile disappears from his face and he inhales sharply, deeply. “Well, your car is ready, so,” he says quietly. Derek nods, showing the other he got the hint. He's already preparing his muscles to turn his body around, but he notices as Stiles pushes himself away from the Camaro and approaches him. Derek is staring at him openly and obviously. Stiles' deadpan face turns into a smiling one once more.

Derek is surprised how close Stiles stopped—he is practically _right in front of him_ now. He can even feel the hot puffs of air Stiles exhales.

“You'll get an extra car wash for free if you quit being such a shy guy, which I'm certain you aren't, and ask me on a date already,” Stiles whispers in a husky voice, right into Derek's slightly opened mouth.

Driven by an unknown force, Derek's hands fly to grope Stiles' ass and his lips involuntarily part even more at the sensation of their firmness. Was it the influence of Stiles' confident words, those stated he wasn't a shy guy, that made him do it? Or the fact that he practically _ordered_ Derek to make a step? He wouldn't have thought those amber eyes were able to see so deeply into him and read him like an open book.

Those eyes which are unbelievably dark now due to Stiles' blown pupils.

“You've been staring at my lip piercing all the time. It's all yours; just take it already.” Derek doesn't even have the time to think 'shit, I didn't know it was so obvious', before he fulfills both of their desire. He doesn't have to be an expert to know Stiles is overexcited—his pupils are dilated widely and when Derek pulls him close, he can feel Stiles' erection pushing against his.

Derek locks his arms around Stiles' waist, while Stiles wraps his arms around Derek's neck, holding himself close. Derek isn't sure which of them moves first, the only thing he knows is that they are kissing each other wildly the next second. Stiles surges forward and tilts his head to get a better angle and thus, a better access to Derek's lips, while Derek jerks his hips into Stiles' crotch, earning a suppressed breathy moan directed straightly into his mouth, which he swallows down, not letting the kiss to be interrupted.

There are too many teeth and tongue, and also the sensation of the tiny piece of metal against his lips that heats Derek's insides up viciously. His heart rate picks up. He's hyper aware how his blood is flowing South in his body, it making him lose control of his actions. Soon his hands undo the cage from around Stiles and begin to wander all over his skin, exploring the numerous variants of tattoos. Stiles smirks into the kiss, but Derek bites forward and traps Stiles' lips with his again. This time he can do what he wanted to do all along—to tease that hoop in Stiles' bottom lip with _his_ tongue, and not just be a bystander as Stiles does it himself, driving Derek completely nuts with it.

It turns out that Stiles is a bewilderingly talented kisser. Derek doesn't know where he got his skills from, but he only pays attention to the here-and-now, to the way Stiles' lips capture his and play a teasing game with them. Derek is completely lost in their infuriated kiss by now, so if his mind wasn't yelling at him constantly, reminding him that they are in public and Stiles has a shift at work, he would definitely go further and invade Stiles' neck. Then later seize all of him, of course, but first he would tease him endlessly.

They come apart with a loud squelching sound. Their thin, vulnerable bridge of saliva is torn once they put some distance between their faces. Stiles licks Derek's cheek and whispers into his ear.

“So how 'bout that car wash later?” Derek groans before he smirks.

“Tell me where to meet,” he responds.

“Come back here by nine,” Stiles suggests and Derek nods, taking a step back to prevent himself from devouring Stiles' being again—be it his mouth, neck, shoulder, or any part of his body.

“Will do,” Derek says, and strews a long kiss on Stiles' cheek soundly, just to repay that lick from earlier.

He leaves Stiles' modestly shivering body and goes inside. He can see in his peripheral vision how Stiles glides his thumb over his bottom lip. For some reason it makes him smirk.

Maybe it's the fact that he's the one who made Stiles feel that way.

“I'm here to pay,” he says when he approached the man who came to welcome him first. The individual nods and tells Derek the price, then leaves with the money to go for the amount he needs to give back, but Derek adds, making the other to halt, turn around and give him a puzzled look. “You can keep it. Just tell the mechanic it's a present for him for the quick work.”

And for the fast response to the sexual tension between them, this way arranging a date for them for tonight, for which Derek is especially grateful. But of course, Stiles' boss doesn't have to know about this part.

On his way out, an open door catches his attention. Derek immediately knows that room belongs to Stiles—the Nirvana poster, numerous gasoline lighters, black leather jacket and motorcycle helmet are enough indications to figure that out.

Derek glances around hurriedly. When he's sure no one is paying attention to him, he stalks his way over to the room and steals a glance or two from inside. There are a few framed photos standing on the desk. Its surface is messy with a lot of papers, wrenches, a few books, notebooks and the lighters.

The pictures make Derek wonder whether Stiles is an actual model; in the first one, Stiles is wearing a pair of big hipster glasses and a white button-up shirt. He's looking upwards at a spot somewhere behind the camera while he's fixing the black bow tie in his neck.

Another one depicts him while he's hugging a young Pomeranian husky to himself. In a third Stiles is wearing a purple sweatshirt and a wolf hat. His hands are sunk into the two paws those belong to the hat. The photo was shot while Stiles was dancing around awkwardly yet adorably. A picture was taken of him and his friends with Stiles sitting behind the set of drums.

There are two more pictures of him and his friends—the first is a close-up, in which Stiles and his puppy-eyed friend are shown, Stiles having his waterline drawn with a black eyeliner. The other takes place at a field, probably a lacrosse field, because Stiles and this friend of his are tangled together in their jerseys.

Suddenly the number 24 means something to Derek now.

The remaining pictures depict Stiles' family, Derek assumes, because a man and a woman are hugging each other, smiling into the camera.

Maybe that is what Derek likes the most about these photos—the fact that Stiles is grinning on all of them with a smile that is independent and totally alive. Derek has to admit, however, that it's strange to see Stiles without his tattoos and to be a witness of the process of all those getting onto his skin by simply looking at the pictures.

He goes outdoors again, only to find Stiles leaning against the driver's door of the Camaro with his arms folded over his chest. He gives Derek a wide smile.

“See you tonight, buddy,” he says invitingly, yet in a playful tone. Derek chuckles freely.

“See you, baby,” he whispers and plants one last kiss to Stiles' peachy lips. The kiss is broken by Stiles' cheeky grin.

“You got the keys; now _shut up and drive_.”

**Author's Note:**

> The last sentence also contains pun, of course ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, I certainly enjoyed writing it. I'm in love with punk!Stiles and this AU was perfect for that.
> 
> I left a few questions unresolved. That's because I might write a sequel to this, but even if I actually do it, I'm not sure when. Well.
> 
> Comments and opinions are welcome as always!
> 
> Loves ♥


End file.
